A Bond is Addictive
The tiniest chime of your cellphone forced a sigh through your glossed lips before your dainty, gloved hands reached for the offending device. Peering at the name blinking across the phone made you roll your eyes because it was only a matter of time before he contacted you again even though you changed your phone and phone number every odd number of days. It was a habit, forced out of desperation and the want to remain unfound. But he always found you no matter where you hid or what you did. Or perhaps, you let him. James Moriarty just would not give it a rest- he’d been following you for years now, tracking you down like you were a prize he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. Reaching for your device, you swiped across the screen and rose the phone to your ear, a wry smile curling along your lips as your free hand set down a teacup.
“Hello, darling.” His voice is smooth and you can’t deny the stir of warmth in your gut. You subtly press your thighs together and take in a silent breath, giving nothing away with your response. Even if Moriarty is your enemy, you couldn’t ignore the instant ache from the tiny tattoo scrawled against the left side of your back. It’s been there for years, ignored for the longest time, even after the first fated meeting with your Bonded. You ignore the idea of reminiscing just because Moriarty is on the phone. You don’t want to talk about the look in his eyes whenever he stared at you or the way he held you tight against his chest. You didn’t care to remember the taste of his mouth after drinking red wine or the raw pain in your wrists from the rope bonds-
“Hello, bane of my existence. Is there a reason for this surprise call? I was hoping I’d finally gotten rid of you,” You responded sweetly, free hand reaching to pick up the teacup once more. This game of cat and mouse had been going on for so long that you fell into your role with a practiced, perfected ease. Moriarty loved a chase, a challenge, and he wouldn't stop because you were both aware of his penchant for success and his hate of defeat.
“I thought I'd call you to ask how you like your eggs. They seem more well done than you're used to.” The response pricks at your skin and your stomach turns in distaste. You take a glance around the establishment, a tiny cafe in the heart of Paris, your head turning slightly before you noticed a figure behind a newspaper. It could easily have been a Parisian enjoying the paper and he could be setting a trap by pulling you out of your element. But he was wearing the ring, the very ring you gave him almost 8 years ago, back when you tripped up and gave him a chance to live up to the positive stereotype. But you were smart; you vanished the moment you realized who he really was: the man with the smile of a saint and the heart of a monster.
The newspaper lowered and sitting at the table for two is Moriarty, clad in an impeccable suit with that innocent smile and a Bluetooth device in his ear. You school your expression into one of calm, this isn't the first time he surprised you in this manner, but it had been a few months since the last face to face encounter. He rose a hand and waved (what an asshole) and you turned your gaze toward a painting behind him.
“And what would you know about that, James? Why are you here? Don't you have a little game of spy to play somewhere?” It's a childish taunt full of mirth. Even if he had ulterior motives for invading your space, you didn't care in the slightest. You only wanted him to go home and out of your beloved haven of lights. He could go back to London and taunting Sherlock Holmes for all you cared.
“Cute. You know what I think would be infinitely better? If we escaped before the bomb goes off and play house instead. I have a residence in the valley, 50 fireplaces.” It's not a ploy and his subtle threat is taken for what it is. Your eyes glaze over the contours of the original piece, noting the usage of gouache and oil and a precise brush stroke. Analyzing it helps you keep a clear head.
“You flatter me. I've already taken care of the bomb. Are you finished testing my patience or do you want me to have you shot?” He must have forgotten who he was up against. Afterall, you are what he made you into, and you knew James better than anyone else on the planet.
“Oh, would you really, darling? I taught you well. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Have dinner with me tonight- and before you say no. I'll ruin this little city if you do because you know I hate that answer.” It's true. You watched him have men killed over lesser requests. Sighing, you finally glance at his clean-shaven face, the look in his eyes hypnotic. There was a reason you left his side all those years ago and continued to elude him for as long as possible. There was something evil, addictive about him and whenever he had you wrapped around his finger he always held on tighter and tighter each time. It was suffocating, stifling, and you couldn’t stand the sight of him and that smug expression he wore now, knowing that you would give in because you loved this place. You were born here in the heart of Paris and grew up here before deciding to spend your youth traveling. Into your mid-twenties, you met Moriarty and the rest was history.
“Would you really condemn these people if I refuse to have dinner with you? You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still a bully, still as heartless and cruel and-” He cuts you off with a sigh before stating something that boils your blood and sets your Bond tattoo ablaze.
“But isn’t that what you love about me? You love me, (y/n). As much as you like to run and play this game of cat and mouse, I know you. I know you feel the same way I do. And you would do anything to save all of these poor, helpless souls. Which is why I know you’ll say yes. Even if you want to fight it. I know that you can’t.” His tone is coaxing, as if you were a baby bird and he was attempting to get you to fly for the first time. And he was right; the thought of your city, the true love of your life, being destroyed drained feeling from your fingers and you blinked, noticing a chipping along the upper left corner of the painting. Inhaling quietly, you respond in kind, voice softer than before, defeat that Moriarty reveled in.
“One date is all I will allow. One date and you leave and abandon the idea that I will ever willingly come back to you. If not, then not even this city’s safety can keep me tied to you. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it, James.” You utter his first name with disdain as you took the final sip of your lukewarm tea, waiting for a response that you already knew because Moriarty would never turn down the chance to be in an intimate setting with you, even if it would be in one of the most expensive chain restaurants that always had a full house consistently every night. So, maybe not as intimate as he would like, but he would still eat up the moments like finely cooked caviar.
“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” You lower your eyes to finally stare at the man you loved for such a long time, into the eyes of a killer, thief, liar and the way he smirked with an adorable abandon and even though you knew that you shouldn’t play along, you shoot a soft smile in return.
“Pierre Gagnaire. 8. If you’re a minute late, this arrangement is null and you need to leave,” You lay out the terms easily, smile still plastered on your face. Jim visibly snorts and rolls his eyes.
“I’ll be there at 7:30.”
.x.
Perhaps you went over the top with a floral maxi dress of white and red roses, the material thin and ethereal with see-through sleeves studded with rubies. A slit ran up the dress, revealing your toned legs in a pair of red stilettos with each step you took. Your (h/l), (h/c) was meticulously curled and pinned up with a few tendrils purposely falling free to crown your face, your lips painted a matching ruby hue and your eyeshadow a dusty rose. Highlighter danced along your cheeks and yes, it took you hours,, and yes, you needed to look perfect to remind him of what he lost. Yes, it’s petty and childish and beneath you, because you are a full grown adult, but-
You wanted James Moriarty to suffer for a night having to watch you sit across from a table and being unable to touch you. Your dress is exposed in the back with enough material lost to reveal your bond tattoo to the open air. It’s not a regular occurrence, but you want him to see it. It’s still as small, still as thin, and yet- You have a feeling that it will always be just as strong. Sometimes, at night when you are apart from yourself and your surroundings, you can hear his thoughts, see his lucid dreams. You sometimes see yourself in them, still wrapped up tight in his arms, still so very much in love. Those days had been different, largely in part because he had yet to turn nefarious in his dealings and shady in his emotions. For a while, Moriarty had been kind, sweet even, and he made you feel safe. You trusted him so much, too much, and in the end, he used that trust against you and broke your heart.
Ignoring the drop of your gut at the thoughts of the past, you strutted down the sidewalk past other Parisians, your shades the same color scheme as your gown because you have a keen eye for the minor details. You walk into the entrance of the restaurant and the moment the concierge takes in your sight, he welcomes you by last name and guides you to your seat although there are a few couples in line waiting for a table. Okay, so you may have chosen a location where you were well known as a means of security for yourself. A few covert operatives under your hire sat strewn across the restaurant with you in their vantage point. Again, another protective measure just in case anything were to go wrong.
“You’re late,” Moriarty called once you were within hearing range, dressed head to toe in black. You swallowed dryly and ignore the instant idea of ravaging him under your 1000 count thread sheets. And Moriarty must know the effect he has on you from the expression that flitted across your face but you ignore it and arch a brow, one hand shifting to rest against your hip as you tilted your head towards your chair expectantly. Did he think you would pull out your chair yourself?
“I said 8. You still can’t follow directions,” You said with an edge, hinting towards the chair; he stood with a shake of his head and shuffled around the table to pull out your chair for you and making a grand gesture for you to sit; it’s almost cute. Taking a seat, Moriarty pushed your chair in and rounded the table once more to take his own. And then he stares… and stares some more… and stares until you remove your shades to look him in the face.
“Now that we’re here. Eat so I can go home,” You snarked, putting on a face of indifference even if your blood is boiling underneath your hot flesh.
“My appetite seems to have changed the moment you stepped your pretty, little toes in here,” He asked back, making a show of licking his lips. Your eyes dart past him to try and pick out a piece of artwork to focus on.
“I know what you’re doing, (y/n). Am I making you so bothered that you can’t look me straight in my face?”
“Yes. So hurry up and order. I’m getting impatient-”
“I missed this petulant attitude of yours. You’re always so stubborn and ready to claw someone’s eyes out if you don’t have your way.” It’s true. Many a time you had blown up at Moriarty over something small or large down the line of your years together. And all he had done then was kiss away your angry frown lines and drape you up in your favorite diamond studded quilt.
You left the most expensive thing in your repertoire in the very manor you swore never to step foot in again. There was too much pain in keeping it, even if it glittered every night the moon was full, even if he lay beside you, arms draped around you and keeping you close like he cared. Deep down, you knew that he only saw you as a possession and now that he couldn’t have you, it made him stubborn and angry. Did he ever really want your love? Or did he want you locked up nice and tight in that cage of a relationship? As you stared back at him, you’re still unsure; perhaps at one point in time he had been able to stare past his ego and need for control to see all that you were, but that quickly grew lost under vindictive actions and a vicious greed for your heart.
You didn’t want to be with someone who made your relationship into a game, who found fun in seeing how far he could push you until you shattered.
“Or perhaps I was always ready to fight your control. You still have a way with making the world revolve around you and you can’t seem to grasp that mine no longer does.” Even as you spoke such truth, you felt your tongue grow heavy under the weight of it all. Even if you didn’t want to be with him in an intimate manner for the sake of your sanity, you still felt something for him no matter how much he didn’t deserve it. And it was unlikely to recede due to the tattoo that bonded your souls together. You could get the tattoo removed- but that would be an embarrassment you would never allow. And who’s to say that it would make their connection completely diminish? You didn’t want to bother scarring up your body as proof that you no longer loved him. You could keep your distance just fine and go about your days without thinking of him; it’s only when he seeks you out like this that you are forced to react against your will.
“That’s where you’re wrong, (y/n)... you are my world. You have always been my world. Why do you think that I go out of my way to track you down? Once you understand that my world only revolves around you, being with you, seeing you, holding you, maybe then you’ll come back to me.” His response is jarring and unexpected, but it could easily be used as a device to make you vulnerable. This is another reason you needed to be as far away from him as possible because as well as you knew him, you couldn’t see through his deception all the time. It made it hard to believe him and hard not to.
“This could easily be a lie-”
“Yes, it could,” He responded quickly, cutting off your train of thought, “But I’m sure that you know me better than that. You want to rationalize everything I say as a way to slither back into your life when I am telling you the truth. My truth. You will never find someone else who will love you the way I do; the addiction I have to you is beyond mere human comprehension. You think I do this to torture you? I love you. And I may have a rather odd way of showing it but I wouldn’t be throwing tantrums or making threats if I could get you back another way.”
Your eyes dart away from the piece of artwork by his head to stare at him, to take in the expression on his face after he had said something so profound. You could read him well, perhaps better than he could read you, and you could see not an inch of a lie on his face. You spent years with him, studying him and the way he worked, the way he lied, you could tell when the naked truth was before you. But evens so- you couldn’t be too careful or trusting.
Before you could respond to him, a waiter had finally found it the right time to saunter over and offer a menu and a suggestion of wine. Wine would do nothing but impair your perfect judgment so you opted for a simple water, staring Moriarty in the eye as you did so. He ordered a red wine before ordering food for the both of you, easily getting what you wanted right. It wasn’t the first time you had dined here with him, but that had been at least 6 years ago. Of course, he would remember. Both of you wait for the waiter to remove herself before continuing the conversation at hand.
“Your addiction to me is not healthy. I used to think that it meant I mattered the most. I used to think that it meant you would do nothing to hurt me and that was foolish on my part. You warped my feelings or disregarded them when it benefited you. And as much as I love you, and don’t you dare fool yourself into thinking it’s enough, I can’t be with you, not when I know that you could and would willingly rid yourself of me the moment I became a liability or if it could further whatever agenda you have. What you love is this challenge, this chase, because you’re so used to getting what you want and it just irks you that you can’t have me. Tell me I’m wrong,” you challenged, left eyebrow twitching from irritation.
“You’re wrong. I chase you because I know that we are meant to be together and every single day I spend without you is a day I can barely get through. I admit my mistakes, I admit that I haven’t treated you the way I should’ve when we were together, but I would be better. I know that what I do will never be what you want for me. I know and I can’t tell you I’ll stop because we both know I won’t, (y/n). But if you just- come back. Come with me. I can prove to you that I have changed.”
It’s all pretty words. You want to believe him, your Bond tattoo forces it on you, but how can you?
He allows you to sit there in silence, soaking in his words, his intentions, as you sat back in your chair and released a sigh. This is the reason you didn’t want to be in the same space as him, even in a place as crowded as this. Close contact meant having your bond reach out to him, it meant you could feel his impulses and feelings no matter how much of a mental block you put up. And you could feel his love, no matter how much you didn’t want to. Even after the waiter arrives with their orders and sets down the plates and drinks, he says nothing, but you can feel everything he wants to say.
Take me back.
Please.
You ignore it and reach for your steak knife and fork, cutting into the medium rare meat harshly and ignoring his silent pleas. You tried to think of this dinner as a means to save the city, not a chance to see the man you’ve loved for a larger part of your life. Dinner is eaten in an amicable silence, but his eyes follow every single one of your movements down to the smallest twitch of your brow, his attention stifling every single time your lips wrapped around the end of the fork for a bite of the tantalizing steak. Even as you ignore his stares, you feel a heat rise in your chest and spread all the way up to your cheeks.
This is absolutely ridiculous.
“Did I tell you how ravishing you look tonight, (y/n)? I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off of you.” Sweet words, spoken in a smooth tone that he knows you like best. It’s almost painful how much he knows that words of affirmation strike you in your heart the hardest.
“Perhaps you should take a picture, Mor, it’ll last much longer than our time in each other’s company.” It is the truth. After this night, you hope to never cross his path again because it would always be too soon. He smiles in response to your words, but you can see how much your words bother him by the strained lines around his mouth.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of it.” As stoic as your expression is, your tone is almost playful, and it almost feels like it used to. Your relationship with Moriarty had always been a complex blend of high emotion and arguments, teasing, witty or snappy comments back and forth that would pull smiles from the both of you. If you were still under the pretense that you could trust him, you would be smiling now, your hand already across the table to grasp at his own in a symbol of care. But this isn’t a date or a happy reunion. This was a meeting coaxed out of his need to control the situation and you at any cost. Even knowing this… you wish that it could’ve been different. You wish that Moriarty could’ve been different.
Your knife and fork gently clank against your empty plate, your stomach full and satisfied, and you peer at the male across the table, eyes hardening back into titanium.
“I finished eating, can we part ways now?” The sooner you were out of his presence, maybe you could decide about where next to escape to if Paris was no longer safe.
“Now, now, (y/n), do you think of me as the kind of man that wouldn’t pay for dessert?” As he spoke out, the waiter wheeled out the last course of the meal, two slices of the most exquisite red velvet cake. Of course, he would choose this as another last-ditch attempt to take up more of your time. Naturally, you reached for the dessert fork with a new hunger in your eyes. Yes, you want out, but to turn down your favorite dessert? The man sure does play dirty.
“So I guess it still is your favorite.. It must be by the way you’re devouring it,” He questioned with a knowing look in his eyes while you’re midbite, flecks of cake against the corner of painted lips. You quickly swallow down a mouthful with the intent to answer, but Moriarty takes it upon himself to be a movie cliche, reaching over before you can protest to brush away the few cake flecks littering your face. The contact is a quick motion and barely even a touch of his thumb against your face and mouth, but it is enough to cause a reaction that you did not anticipate for all your planning.
“Your table manners are still poor,” He teased as he pulled his hand away, watching the way you swallow down whatever insulting remark that was a moment from escaping your parted lips. Yes, it is all a truly wonderful, enticing game that he couldn’t resist. Being able to tease and touch you, despite it being a forced setting, was almost enough to satisfy his insatiable craving for your attention. He watches the way you cough out of embarrassment and how your eyes dart for the Monet painting behind him, a last-ditch effort to hide your true emotions from him. But he can tell because the contact did something to him as well. He hadn’t been able to touch you for so long that the contact kickstarts your the chemicals in your Bond, a reaction that sends a shudder down both of your spines. That bastard.
“A-And you still don’t know about boundaries, I think I’m ready to leave.” You huff out, breaking your demeanor completely due to the reaction to his touch. Surprisingly, Moriarty nods and motions for the check, his lips curling up into the playful smile of a mischievous cat. You knew that look well and that you had somehow faltered and fallen right into his trap. After he pays for the check, he stood, pushed in his chair, and rounded the table to help you up like a gentleman. The contact is brief because you pull out of his grasp as quickly as possible, schooling your expression as you give pleasantries to the waiter on your way out. The night is warm and it is a welcomed heat to soothe the chills running through you. You didn’t account for this when you agreed to the date; the fact that your bond could still have such power over you was a weakness he did take into consideration.
“You can feel it too, can’t you? That pull between us.” The soft sound of his voice reminds you of a snake moving through grass, quiet, swift, ready to pounce at any moment. But it also reminds you of all the time you spent by his side in years past. He had been good to you once, had treated you like his queen and never put anything before you. But when his lifestyle began to dominate everything else, it became too much and you decided to break the chain tethering you together.
“So what if I do, James?” Is your response as you stalked for the nearest taxi, happy to have your back facing him until you felt a hand grasp at your left wrist gently but firm enough to hold you in place. You don’t want to continue this conversation. Prolonged exposure to Moriarty’s ways would always prove fatal to your logical thinking.
“Why fight it? I love you. You love me. This is a fact that you will never be able to escape, little rabbit.” You glance at him over your shoulder, the street lamp allowing you to take in his expression. He’s handsome, always handsome, and it hurts that he is right. You do love him, you would probably never stop, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to do this again. You didn’t want to follow him back to his high scale hotel to be wrapped up in his arms for one night before bolting, guilt and regret low in your stomach. You deserved more… and so did he.
“One day, maybe you’ll be able to see a world without me and I will be able to see my life without you, James. And I hope on that day, that we can see each other again and it won’t be this hard to say goodbye to you.” Carefully, the love of your life pulls you closer and turns you to face him, staring down into your saddened eyes. He draws you into his chest and releases your wrist to wrap his arms around you tightly. His warmth swarms you and encases you in a small cocoon of heat, his cologne attacking your nose as you delicately press your head into his neck. This is the first touch that is born out of genuine care instead of control. It is the first time he’s ever touched you with the intent to let go, but it is also the first time that you didn’t want him to.
“Maybe, (y/n), maybe.” But I doubt that , the words dance around your head from his side of the bond, an undertone of laughter in your chest. You shake your head gently and resist the urge to laugh as you give him a gentle squeeze, his hands stroking over your back as he sighed, “But, for now, I can tell that you aren’t ready to come back now and if I push, you will push back.” He detangles himself from you first, a mask of calm on his countenance to cover up the turmoil inside.
“I will keep pushing.” You clarify, smiling as you spoke. This is… new. A new feeling in your chest, is it relief? Something akin to solace is taking form inside of you at this new development. It is the first time that your parting is not an explosion of shouting, filthy words, and the bruising need to escape.
“I wouldn’t ask for anything else, little rabbit. Now run along before I change my mind.” He called over his shoulder once he turned on his heels and slipped his hands into his pockets, beginning to whistle as he walked away.
You found yourself walking along the streets that night, overtaken by the lights scattered all over the city and the idea that your run could turn into a jog one day and maybe he could catch up.